


Constructive Interference

by IraDeu



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Other, Platonic Omegaverse, hoo boy i will get myself kicked out of the fandom, watch an asexual write porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 04:29:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10297550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IraDeu/pseuds/IraDeu
Summary: A study in the implications of same-presentation Omegaverse... stuff.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so like as an asexual my first reaction to the omegaverse was "holy shit you guys found a way to make gay sex straight again" and I think now that I'm wrong but I'm asexual someone please educate me 
> 
> this shall be the only omegaverse fic you shall ever read that contains zero porn and little actual Johnlock. You have been... warned? How about we just say that when you're inevitably disappointed, it's your fault. 
> 
> This is also my PSA that's just me incoherently screaming "romance and sex are not the only way that people can have meaningful relationships," which is something that I'm *sure* that this fandom ****completely understands and we never have to go over this again ever yes I am saltier than the Dead Fucking Sea****

**Side One**

Most people did not take Sherlock Holmes seriously, even before he decided to drag another Omega under his roof (Omegas themselves are not taken seriously. Not here. But this was  _Sherlock_ , which meant that he was willing, now, to experiment on  _people,_ to be openly perverted.) 

Sherlock doesn't quite know why he let John in. (Three days before his heat, then - they're irregular at best, but he can power through the first day or so before his body well and truly starts to destroy itself - or, at the very least, invite others to do just that. He's fuzzy around the edges, biological imperatives telling him that companionship is good, needed, yes. Closer. 

Maybe this is why, most of the time, he is so antisocial, so independent. His body's way of asking for companionship is so extreme it is terrifying.) 

Sherlock feels ashamed of himself for the first time in years when he has to explain to John that his heat is coming. 

"I'm fine. I won't bug you for..." 

"Yes," Sherlock says, and goes and locks himself in his bedroom and ingests enough poison to be able to block out the feeling of his body betraying him. 

* * *

 

On cases, it's usually not that big of a deal; most Omegas are good at passing as Betas, and Sherlock and John have spent their entire lives trying to play an Alpha's game. They know how to mask scent, how to become aggressive, how to make themselves completely undesirable. How to hide an identity when who you are, or how people interact with that, has the capability of destroying you. Or what you want. Or what you do. 

This is what Sherlock sees in John, at first. The ever-present self-loathing, the desire to be better, something different. Knowing that you deserve power, and that you shall also never get it. 

It damn near breaks Sherlock's heart. 

* * *

 

It is the job of the Omega to be an object for the Alpha. Sit pretty. Accept protection. Present yourself for fucking. 

Or, at least, it's become that. It started off that Alphas were aggressive and Omegas were protective. The Alpha would battle, and the Omega would heal. Symbiosis. 

Alphas rarely come home bloody, anymore. There is no need for soft edges, for  _comfort,_ for anything inefficient and predatory. This is a world that works to the Alpha's rules, because, in the absence of external threats, remedies are useless. Omegas are made redundant, except for the purpose of procreation. Of sex. Therefore, Omegas have no purpose outside of sex. Therefore, any Omega not having sex is a waste of space and air and life. The cycle continues. The targets change, but the victims never do. 

Which is why, when Sherlock is pummeled in a fight, John  _snarls_ and drags him away and out and home and is questioned by exactly no-one. There is a need, and that need is not met. 

He lays Sherlock on the couch and cleans his wounds and ties him back together, stitch by stitch. Mutual need - John, to comfort; Sherlock, to be comforted. It would be transactional if it was not this. 

They are silent. This is nothing like surgery - it is too tender and instinctual and intimate. This is exactly like surgery - it is simply another outgrowth of John Watson, another way for him to breathe life into another. this is what he was born to do, and, in that way, it is a part of him, just like his skin or hair or eyes. Here is John Watson, when he does not need to pretend: fixing Sherlock Holmes. 

"I didn't know," Sherlock says, in a haze of adrenaline and blood loss and endorphins. 

"What?" 

"You had this in you," and he sleeps. 

* * *

 

Sherlock had thought that he was basically a Beta with a hormone issue until Moriarty strapped a bomb to John's back. 

"What're you going to-" 

"Please," Sherlock says. "Please let him go." 

Moriarty blinks. 

"Please." 

"If you'll forgive the reference, they usually don't say that." 

"What do they do?" 

"Usually, they try to kill me." 

"I... I'm guessing that doesn't work out for them, did it?" 

"It's... boring." 

"Please. Neither of us want this. You won't be happy. Please." 

Moriarty lets them go. 

* * *

 

"John? John. Are you okay? Please be okay. We're taking you home. Please. Look at me. You're going to be fine." 

"Sherlock." 

"Okay. Please-" 

"You don't have a lot of practice at this, do you?" 

"I'm an Omega in an Alpha job. Being good at this is something I usually actively try to avoid." 

"No, you're just a person with needs that are not met. Calm down and stay here." 

"I will not  _calm down_ when-" 

"It'll be better for me." 

When the police finally arrive, John is asleep in Sherlock's lap, and Sherlock is aggressively calm, like a small pocket of caring. 

This is an Omega, at its best. Placating, protecting, and yet aggressively individual. And it does not need saving, for it shall save itself. 

* * *

 

Sherlock does not leave John's side. John heals quickly, arguably as a result. 

The entirety of Scotland Yard is unnerved to see Sherlock like this. He is usually a hurricane. Now, he is his own opposite. 

"You're thinking of it wrong," John says. "You're not about the doing things, you're about the helping people. You've always been a self-sacrificing twit. This is just..." 

"Yeah," Sherlock says, and they don't talk about it any more. 

* * *

 

They keep going, like this. Mutual support. Contrary to popular belief, it is the Alpha that is excessively romantic, that justifies their violent compromising need with hastily-applied ideas of love. The Omega is happy with nothing but companionship and stability and protection. This is not a feeling that needs to be justified. 

They can give each other this, so they need nothing else. 

For Sherlock's next heat, he stays downstairs and watches John. 

"Are you..." 

"You feel safe," Sherlock says, and they sit on the couch together and John rubs his curls and everything is wonderful. 

* * *

 

A strong argument could be made that heats are about needing sex. Sherlock sees it a different way: It's about needing stability, about needing reassurance that there is something that can push away the evil. One could argue that Alpha reactions to heats are just trying to assert their usefulness to givers of life. (It is, after all, technically possible for two Omega males to reproduce, but not two Alpha females. Two Alphas would be terrifying for a child.) 

It is simply a role that needs to be filled. And, as all great plays show, the actors themselves do not matter. 

* * *

 

Their heats line up, one after the other, so there is a solid week out of every season in which both of them are out of commission. 

Everyone thinks that they have sex, in this time. They are wrong. 

* * *

 

Well, not completely. They try, twice. 

It doesn't quite work out like they expected. It had been... masturbation with an audience, basically. The opposite of sexy. 

John hadn't knotted, leaving Sherlock off in a worse spot then when they started, searching for something that hadn't been there. It had ended with John digging through Sherlock's drawers looking for sex toys, and Sherlock alternately panicking that his privacy was being invaded and that his brain was insisting that something was very, very wrong in the general gonad region and that  _just fucking shove something in there already_

They didn't try it for John, that cycle. 

* * *

 

They try it again for Sherlock, because Sherlock. His excuse is that John is more aggressive. John reads, in this, that Sherlock is scared, does not know how to act outside his role. Sherlock is aggressively individual. John is a chameleon. 

"You could fuck me," Sherlock says. They are both naked. They are both aware that they are in a position that many would die to simply witness. 

What Sherlock feels is not arousal. It is simply emptiness, one that can be filled in a way other than what they are about to do. 

"That I could." John is uneasy. He wants to do this, but not really. He is enthusiastic for the experiment and its possible results, but not for his involvement in such. 

"Why don't you?" 

"Because I don't want to." 

They leave it at that. They put their clothes back on, and both of them agree to never do this again. 

* * *

 

People eventually stop questioning them. Newcomers to the Yard always ask: What's up with the two Omegas? 

If it's Lestrade, they're told to just watch and learn. If it's Molly, she'll spew adorable Beta rants of how  _sweet_ they can be. If it's Sally, she'll smirk and say something about how "they'll do their job better than you can, asshole" and then the newcomer will shut up, because outsiders protect each other. 

They do their jobs, and they do them well. 

And: Sherlock does not die. 

Not for a long, long time. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> look more

**Side Two**

The initial reaction to John moving in with Sherlock is not disdain, but rather fear. It's not that two Alphas in the same living space is immoral; it's that it's generally considered to be impossible. Too much aggression in too small a space. A household is like a snake; a single head is effective. Two will lead to it splitting itself in half. 

Sherlock was worried, originally, when Mike Stamford told him that the only flatmate available was another Alpha. (The last time that had happened, Mycroft had to step in and break up the fight before Sherlock and Victor managed to actually kill each other. The time before that, Sherlock had been nearly arrested for disturbing the peace, and Sally had been arrested for assault, though interestingly not against him.) 

When he first met John, he was still worried. Here is a man that is both a doctor and a soldier - a dichotomy connected on its seam of power and skill and adrenaline, of  _I could take your life away with just a twitch and I shall not because I prefer having power over myself to having power over you._

John Watson strikes Sherlock, first and foremost, as dangerous. 

This is exactly why Sherlock brings John into his flat. It is excitement - a method through which Sherlock can wear himself down and help another. Self-objectifying altruism, Mycroft called it, and Sherlock had shouted back that making up words didn't make Sherlock any less himself. Damn him. 

The first time they fought, it ended quickly. John had a shoulder that was made almost entirely out of scar tissue and a psychosomatic limp. He was up against the wall, trapped, with locked eyes and no forgiveness. 

"Do it," John said, low and quiet and almost a whisper, but with too much tone. "You could snap my neck. It would be  _easy._ Or maybe you want to bond - you seem like the sort of pervert that would do that. We've known each other for less than a week. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into." 

And something miraculous happened: The irrepressible Sherlock came down. 

"I... I'm sorry. I don't know..." 

"Fucking hormones, that's what." 

John rubs his neck and walks away. 

* * *

 

After that, their relationship took on a less...  _overtly_ aggressive tone. 

Their next fight ends before it can start. 

John does not become violent in this version. He does not need to. He is taken seriously, in this world, without the threat of blood. 

"If we continue to fight like this, Sherlock, you will kill me," he says, quiet, calm, as Sherlock has him pinned to the ground. 

Sherlock liked to consider himself in control of his emotions, which was why this man infuriated him. A mirror to what he hated most. Or, possibly, what Mycroft never could be: a keeper. 

And for John? Sherlock suspects it's still the power. 

And Sherlock finds he doesn't mind. It's caring, in the only way that John knows, and it's touching, and it's not like Sherlock isn't just as controlling. 

Reciprocal, maybe. Or just fair. Sherlock will drag John out to do things, and John will drag Sherlock away from the truly idiotic. They complete each other. 

If you are a romantic, which Sherlock is not. 

* * *

 

They take their aggression out in smaller ways, after that. Their verbal fights become frequent and vocal, all aggression, no anger, and Ms Hudson tells the entire block that she had never heard two people argue about the weather before those two came along. The pillows turn to puffs of feather, which are then violently dropped in the bin, violently cleaned, evidence of imperfection violently removed. Cups break. Little things. 

They start to mark bits of the flat as their own. Sherlock's chair. John's closet. Ask for permission before entering bedrooms. The bathroom has two sinks, and both are implicitly and categorically banned from straying from their own. Unconscious patterns, but patterns nonetheless. There are safe spaces, neutral zones, (kitchen couch stairs table lab), but there is still ownership. Their flaws cannot be eliminated, so they have learned to work around them. 

The first time they are possessive of each other, it is because of Mycroft, and it is entirely by surprise. 

"Sherlock, do you honestly think it's a good idea to live with another Alpha?" Mycroft says, in his technically-correct Beta concern, the sympathy of the uncomprehending. 

"What makes you think I'd let him go?" John says. 

The Holmeses turn and look at John. John sips at his tea, as if to hide a smile. 

* * *

 

The second time, they are on a case. They're talking to Irene. Beta, professional, the sort of people hire to negotiate, to con. 

Because she owns herself, she is very, very dangerous. They watch her. She watches back - or doesn't bother to. They are controlled by their aggression. She controls them. 

She takes a step towards John, and Sherlock steps in front of her. Meets her. 

Raised eyebrows. She conceded. 

_Mine._

* * *

 

The first fight Sherlock gets into because of John, not with him, is with Sebastian Moran in a filthy alley a block away from Baker Street. 

Sherlock vaguely remembers a threat towards John's life. He remembers very, very clearly John showing up and dragging him back home. 

"What the  _hell-"_

"He was going to hurt you." 

"I can take care of myself-" 

"But that's  _my_ job." 

Breathless staring,  _no-_

* * *

 

Sherlock wonders, sometimes, about how John handles it. John is a person that craves power and has been denied it, and now he is in a position where all he can do is follow, where the only way he can change what has happened is by writing down falsehood. 

John never lies. 

So: Power. 

He asks him, one day. "Why do you want to be powerful?" 

John pauses before he answers. 

"You learn to appreciate what you never got as a kid," he goes with, and Sherlock understands completely. 

* * *

 

The first time they kiss is during a fight. This is a trope. This is exactly what they both will likely happen and what they know should never happen. This has no bearing whatsoever on the events that follow. Patterns exist because we force them to. Maps are drawn after the fact, and are then followed. 

They are angry at each other, now. Sherlock is angry because he feels that John refuses to listen. John is angry because Sherlock has no sense of self-preservation. Both are right. Neither will alter their behavior. This is how they function, and how they will always function - except that here, now, they are driven to change. 

There is a line on the carpet that they are forbidden from crossing, in fights. Stand on opposite sides of the room. Hold nothing. If you refuse to allow your body to get the better of you, your body will not get the better of you. Slow breathing and wide eyes and actual fear. 

"I don't want you to die, Sherlock, and so you have  _got to fucking calm down because I could not survive your death-_ " 

"I'm not going to die. Your need to protect me is a simple evolutionary holdover-" 

It's the way he says it that gets to John. He says it in the same way that freshly-deconverted atheist teenagers speak of religion, both dismissive and derisive in a way that combines to make incredible insecurity. Something loathed because of its suspected and untested power.  _The feelings you have are weak, and it would be best for all of us if you eliminated them, slated them off like-_

John steps across the carpet and grabs Sherlock by the collar. 

Two rules broken to enforce one. Sherlock's pupils are dilated so that the blue is just a ring, an aureole. The trail of taboo is hot in the air, and Sherlock wonders, momentarily, whether John will take it, pluck it out of the sky and pin it down to where it belongs. 

Then he realizes that he already knows the answer. 

The kiss that follows is made almost entirely of teeth. 

* * *

 

The first time they have sex, it ends with a trip to the emergency room, and John is so glad that he does not have a blog, because if they had any sort of notoriety, this would have lead to a massive scandal. 

The second time, they are more careful. Sherlock lathers himself in Omega hormones, and John restrains himself. The suppression of identity, and for what? It feels hollow, empty, as if they are performing an act that should be honest, as if they are performing a play in a language they do not understand, as if they are attempting to  _perform._

They decide to take a break from sex, after that, until they figure out how to make it work. 

Their first real kiss, by that timeline, comes on a lazy Saturday afternoon. Sherlock is lying on the couch. John is sitting on the couch and staring, the television on but not watched. 

They curl into each other slowly; heads on shoulders, hands held together, then ghosting timidly on necks and curls and arms. Patience, maybe, or taboo, unfamiliarity. Swirls drawn into fabric. 

"You are mine," John says. 

"No," Sherlock says, and they kiss: a gentle fight for dominance, trying to figure out who belongs to who, trying to discover their relationship in lips and tongue and breath, trying to delineate ownership in something as imprecise as touch. 

They are both right, and they just might know it. And, if they don't, they have the rest of their lives to figure it out. 

* * *

 

The first time they really have sex, Sherlock was obliterated. Destroyed. A virgin, whose first experience was something truly marvelous, like all teenage sex is. 

He remembers: preparation, a thin layer of pheromones to prevent excessive aggression, should it get that far, but also condoms, lube, things he had always associated with  _other people_ now being put on so they can be, if the stories are fight, as close to each other as possible. Something gentle, yet aggressive. Loving and cruel. 

He remembers: fear, cut through with the knowledge, that John wanted nothing more than to own Sherlock, cut through with Sherlock knowing that he would be controlling John through his every action and reaction. Power, evenly distributed. An act about to happen that neither were prepared for. 

He remembers: the beginning. He felt more than he expected to, yet somehow... less. Too real to be anything but dreamlike. An oversaturation of meaning creating nonsense. Pain. 

He remembers: trying to knot against nothing. 

He remembers: this was entirely his idea, that he had pulled John into this. What did they call it? Another experiment? And now Sherlock was lying, powerless,  _needing-_

He remembers: his knot being grabbed, and the entire world being wiped away. 

He remembers: this was taboo, and they had done it. 

He remembers: sensation and the partner being somehow disconnected, in his mind. Both were irrelevant to each other, in his mind. 

He remembers: "What will they say about you? What do they say about Alphas that like to be fucked?" 

He remembers: "John, how can you  _talk_ right now?" 

He remembers: Kisses made of sugar and denial and affection. A shorthand for love, a symbol that has nothing to do with the actual emotion being conveyed. A seal. Finalization. 

He remembers: thinking that they would have one  _hell_ of a story to tell. 

He remembers: "I love you." It had been a surprise. Honest, even if neither were sure what that meant, now. 

He remembers: "I love you, too." Sherlock had not known that he would say that until he did. It does not surprise him in the least. 

He remembers: not knowing if this was what he wanted, but knowing that he didn't know if this would work, but praying to every single god he didn't know if he believed in that it would. 

* * *

 

The next day: 

"Sherlock, you are aware that what we did was very nearly illegal." 

"If I can die in the way of Oscar Wilde-" 

"Your brother will never forgive you, and I will never forgive myself." 

"Don't act like you don't think that everyone expected this." 

"Sherlock, if you're scared, we can talk. We just-" 

"I... I'll tell you. I promise." 

And they don't need to know what's next, because they know they'll be together. They want to make this work, so they will. 

And that's enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meaning is meant to be inferred in the discrepancies between the sections, in both the actions of the characters and the description of different presentations except for who the hell am i kidding leave a comment if i fucked up somewhere


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IN WHICH I TALK ABOUT BETAS 
> 
> COS YEAH 
> 
> I HAD THAT PLANNED 
> 
> AND THEN I HAD TO PEEL POTATOES NO REALLY I WAS ABOUT TO POST THIS 
> 
> FUCK 
> 
> NEXT TIME, ON IRADEU: I ACTUALLY PLAN A MULTI-CHAPTER THING TO BE RELEASED AT ONE TIME #LIFEGOALS

**Side Three**

It's not that Betas are discriminated against - it's that they don't exist. They're invisible. Unnoticeable. Part of the background. 

When John and Sherlock move in together, the only buzz that stirred was the possible betas-stick-together nonsense from the fringes. This was normal, if disappointing. (Sherlock had kept track since he had failed to present - one fil with two betas as the romantic leads had been produced, ever: Brokeback Mountain. And most romantic storylines with a beta in them obviously were written by straight people that didn't know what beta biology even was.) 

An outsider. Someone that would watch and smirk and laugh whenever the Alphas got too aggressive and would calm down the Omegas whenever hormones strung too high. 

It fits Sherlock, really. Not a person, but rather an impartial machine. 

* * *

 

John feels different. John isn't the sort of Beta that tries to change. He doesn't bother to apologize; he seems almost too tired to try and be something he is not. 

John simply  _is_ and  _does not care_ , and that is enough for him. 

Which is why, Sherlock supposes, John surprises him so much. He breaks a pattern in the one place where it would not make sense to. There is a deeper motivation at play, and Sherlock does not know it and cannot deduce it. 

(And Sherlock cannot deny that he admires John's tenacity. Sherlock could never not leave the house being himself. It's far too scary, being vulnerable.) 

* * *

 

The easiest way to think of a Beta, John thinks, is that of a neutralizer. Instead of mixing a base with an acid, one can simply add water. 

Or, maybe it's like adding water to watercolors - an enabler, invisible except for what can be done with something soluble. 

Two Betas together, however, has a different effect. It is a searching for something that is not there. 

Most of the time, this leads to frustration. This is why Betas try not to get close to each other. It is frustrating, trying to find something that does not exist, that has been told not to exist, has been told to be the stagehand. 

This is why Sherlock surprises him. Sherlock does not channel his inquisitiveness to find the core of an Alpha or Omega and be what they want. Sherlock uses it to find the core of a criminal and bring them to justice. He finds the cores of  _people._

This distinction is not made by all, but it is made by him, and he is the worlds only consulting detective. So. According to Sherlock, he can be considered to be an expert on the subject. 

It happens when they're at the table, eating breakfast. John is reading the news. Sherlock is watching John. 

"John," he says, and he looks up. 

"Yes?" 

"You want to protect people, but you are afraid that you do not have the power required to do so." 

Their eyes meet, and John can feel the electric blue of his eyes digging through him, instincts being twisted to his own ends. Unexpected intimacy. 

What do you see, there, John, Sherlock thinks. And what can you do to emphasize that? 

"You... you think your life is only meaningful if you are helping someone, so you obliterate yourself for others. You become a machine, because that is the only role you have been taught, the same way teenage girls break themselves because 'beautiful' is the only role they know and want." 

"You have been made powerless before, and thus every single action you take is either exploring the power you want or have or fighting against that urge so you do not become what created you." 

"You make the rules in every act you do and  _assert_ yourself because you have seen what happens when power decides to limit the individual. You have been obliterated, before, and you do not wish for it to happen again, so you distance yourself." 

They go like this, for a few minutes, trading observations back and forth, until Lestrade rings the doorbell with a new case.  

It's thrilling: John has found a part of himself in another. They are the same, in some deep relieving way. 

* * *

 

They find themselves changing, after that. It is Sherlock that gives John more responsibilities, starts handing him the larger jobs, the ones that Sherlock is inclined to do himself. Things like, "stay here and guard me and tell me if anyone is coming" or "drive as fast as you can to Buckingham Palace. We have five minutes and this taxicab." 

They are not all things that John thinks he can do, but they are all things well within his ability, and Sherlock knows this. Other people are obvious, to him. 

John, on the other hand, does his work on the little things. Things like forcing Sherlock to have an opinion, or asking Sherlock how he felt about a case, or noticing that Sherlock is about to cry from frustration or fear or just pure sadness and pulling him aside and saying "it's fine, you can cry. Emotions do not make you weak." 

And it is  _perfect._

* * *

 

Except that that's a lie. 

Sherlock is infuriating. John is violent. Sherlock is openly self-deprecating, which exacerbates John's quiet self-loathing, and a million billion other rough edges and broken bits that hurt and scrape and tear. 

They argue. They compromise. They make up. They know that they are trying to do the insane, that they are dealing with someone they shall never understand. 

But they do care. And they had never once convinced themselves that this would be easy. 

* * *

 

They know each other well, to the point where every action comes as a surprise. Those that you think you have figured out are often the ones you have not, or, through your understanding, grow and change and shift into something that will be beautiful to observe for... 

For as long as it matters. Forever, if it needs to be, or maybe just today. 

Behind tension, there is understanding. They find each other alternately delightful and infuriating, but the worst is mitigated with a solid comprehension of why, or at least that there is a why. 

They start referring to each other as a "we" to outsiders, at one point. Like a couple, almost. Mycroft finds this distressing, to put it mildly. 

"Sherlock, that's codependency or-" 

"We're Betas, brother dearest. We become what our partners need." 

"And what would that be?" 

"There." 

* * *

 

Things end between them after Reichenbach Falls. 

John considers it the end of an era. The closing of a book. 

He puts himself back together and becomes the Omega for Mary Morstan, and, if he is not happy, he does not let himself know it. 

There is something special, he thinks, to be found between two people that are so very similar. 

* * *

 

Mary wants him to perform a specific role. 

He does this, because he has practice. 

He finds her... distant. They are so strange to each other that even the most superficial of understanding feels strange. Two people that have been trained to have such different societal roles do not often try to comprehend. 

They were drawn for the sex, but they stay... 

* * *

 

When Sherlock comes back, he calls John. 

"John, I-" 

"You." 

"John, please forgive me. I... I owe you a thousand apologies." 

John listens. John does not understand, yet. 

But he will. He knows he will, and that makes it bearable. 

* * *

 

John takes Sherlock back to 221B. (He strongly suspects that Mycroft had it rented out, out of some misplaced Alpha sentimentality. It does not matter. What matters is that it is empty, and theirs.) 

"Tell me what happened," John says. 

Meaning: I missed you. 

Sherlock hears. 

* * *

 

Mary is jealous of Sherlock, but she is an Alpha, and Alphas are jealous of everyone. They stay together. When John says "we", everyone knows who he is referring to. 

They fight. A lot. John's favorite Maryism: "Why do you want to spend more time with  _him_ than with someone you can  _fuck?"_ (John had bitten back the urge to say "exactly".) 

When Mary shoots Sherlock, it is expected. Entirely. 

John takes Sherlock home, after that, and their lives go back to their normal rhythm. They have found how to work with each other, and they will do that for as long as they are able. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear that my notes and summaries and comments make me look like i've just lost 70 iq points

**Author's Note:**

> see it wasn't *that* bad 
> 
> also: is "transactional" a word because god damn I hope it is


End file.
